assimilation
by Rhi Marzano
Summary: Jake has issues. Very little "boffing like bunnies." Slash, J/T. Sequel to vicissitude.


assimilation  
rhi marzano  
R. I guess.  
[A/N: sequel to vicissitude, companion to adjuvant attraction & repercussions. um, no actual sex. but pretty much implied. some pretty ... um... language. male/male. you don't like? i'm not forcing you to read.]

* * *

One day I saved a boy from a swirlie. After I chased off the bullies, I dried off his hair the best I could with some paper towels. It was clumsy and hardly efficient, but the entire time his eyes were fixed on me. His eyes were the saddest eyes I'd ever seen.

I felt as if something had suddenly gone wrong. My heart was beating funny and my brain was swimming and I was _rock hard_. Maybe I'd had a stroke. Did teenagers have strokes? What were the symptoms of strokes, anyway? I tried desperately to recall the magnet that stuck on our fridge, right next to the pizza coupons, but I was pole-axed.

He had the most beautiful eyes, and his name was Tobias.

I, of course, was not gay. Or at least, I didn't think I was gay. Or--I didn't want to be. I didn't know a whole lot, but I knew that Juan and Terry--my friends, I played basketball with them--hated fags. I didn't want to be one of "them."

That day I sat by my cousin's best friend on the bus. In retrospect, I'd chosen the least feminine girl I knew, but at the time Cassie was the only girl (besides Rachel) I felt comfortable with. She wasn't hard to talk to, and she seemed to like me as well.

I'm not trying to say our love was a lie. It started out as proving to myself that I was normal, and I wanted to believe that I loved her so badly that eventually it became true. I clung to it through the war, because even though I was risking my life and everyone else's six ways to Sunday, I was still an All-American-Sports-Loving-Heterosexual boy.

I really did love Cassie, though I was miserable the whole time. I never felt good enough--that she needed me to be more, needed me to need her, needed me to feel more. I guess now that it was myself projecting my insecurities onto her, that it was really me needing to be and do all that for her. 

The war ended and I crashed. I couldn't deal with keeping up an image anymore and...I didn't want to see her. I just needed to work through my issues, I told myself at first. Then I'd call her and we'd be normal again. I kept telling myself that and more and more time passed and it mattered less and less.

I'd spent a lot of time, being more grown up than I should have had to have been, and being more depressed than anyone ought to be.

And I was sick of that.

* * *

Tobias was at the stove, simmering the peanut sauce. He kept darting nervous glances at me with those eyes of his. Normally I would be sitting at the table, entertaining notions of jacking him off as he tried to stir the noodles. I'd done it a great many times, because he's really, really sexy when he cooks. Had we been alone, my hands would have found their way into his pants rather quickly.

The point was that we weren't alone. My best friend was in the kitchen with us, looking entirely freaked out--which was understandable, because he'd just caught us half-naked on a couch.

We hadn't really said anything since I'd delayed the discussion with a plea for dressing time.

Tobias looked at me.

I looked at him.

And then, it came:

"Are you fucking _insane_?"

"Probably," I said.

"He's seeing a counselor," Tobias said helpfully.

"I know," Marco snapped. "I set him up with one."

"He dated her," I told him.

"Ah," said Tobias.

"I'm so fucking pissed at you, you can't even imagine." Marco began to tear up a napkin. "I'm supposed to be your best friend. We've been friends for as long as I can remember--why didn't you ever _tell_ me?"

"It doesn't exactly fit well in casual conversation."

"That is the _stupidest_ excuse I've ever heard."

"Marco," Tobias said. "We're happy. Isn't that all that matters?"

"You would think so. You would _think_ so. But you, Bird-Boy, have not been around the past three years. You have not seen how _depressed_ he has been. And you would think, as his best friend, that I'd be able to affect that somehow. I tried to get him to call Cassie, and when that didn't work, I got him a house right by mine so I could make sure he wasn't starving himself. I made him go to parties and got him dates with beautiful women. And there were times I was _sure_ he would be dead within the week. And it _pisses_ me off that the entire time he was just pining for you and he _couldn't tell me._"

"For your information," I said, a little testily. "I haven't just been sitting around here yearning. I've had a lot of issues to work through, and while my attraction to Tobias was one of them it was certainly not the largest one. It _was_, however, Tobias that gave me the inspiration to finally let things go. And I think the real issue here is not that you're pissed at me for not telling you about Tobias and me--rather than you're jealous that it was Tobias that got me out my funk and not you."

Marco opened his mouth, then closed it again.

Tobias set the pad Thai on the table. "Have some food," he advised quietly.

And we ate in silence.

* * *

Afterwards, I put on ESPN and Marco and I watched some basketball. Tobias couldn't care less about basketball, so he cleaned up the dishes and threw a load in the washing machine. 

"You can't have kids, you know," Marco said during a commercial.

"Not conventionally, at least, no. But we're too young to be thinking about that."

Ten minutes later he spoke again. "Um, you remember Jude? That I dated a while back?"

I thought about it. "Blonde? Scary eyeliner?"

"Yeah, that's the one. She's with an adoption agency. I can get you her number if you'd like."

"Thanks," I said, and meant it.

We stopped talking when play resumed, but as soon as the next commercial break hit, Marco cleared his throat. "You _know_ you could have told me."

"I know. I just... had to work it out on my own first."

"Yeah. I guess."

Three things happened, really: one, Marco threw out something about how college hoops were way better than pro ball, which I instantly refuted; two, Tobias asked if the Spiderman sheets were okay and Marco suggested we should burn them and replace them with Batman sheets; and three, Marco sang a little song that began with the phrase, "Jake and Tobias, sittin' in a tree." It was as if everything was back to normal--with our sexual orientations assimilated in.

After Marco left, Tobias and I went to bed. This time, I made sure I locked the door.

* * *


End file.
